Boys of Summer
by cbs3
Summary: Race's best friend, Spot Conlon, disappears to the City for the summer. His return makes them realize that things will never be the same again. Sprace R&R ch6
1. Chapter 1

So, He's back. He took off at the beginning of the summer without a word to anyone. Okay, so he told his mom he was going to the City to work or something. But he didn't say jack shit to me, his best friend since, God, kindergarten. We met on the monkey bars for christssake. I showed up at his house after he didn't return my calls for two whole days and his drunk-ass mom smoked her endless cigarette and told me, "he went to the City." Then she took a long, bored drag and added, "he didn't tell you?" Yeah, thanks for that Mrs. Conlon.

So I wake up this morning, first day of school, terrible summer, which I spent agonizing over today. Would he come back? Was he gone for good? I've got goddamn knots in my stomach.

And then I see him from across the hall. And he sees me, and he smiles his trademark smug smile and walks over like it's any other day of our lives and he didn't just disappear on me. No phone calls. No note. Like he'd dropped off the face of the planet and wasn't just four hours away, living his life as if we were never friends. As if our friendship didn't matter.

So he's in my face again, grinning from ear to ear like he's just pulled the most fantastic joke. I know I look shocked, excited, relieved and he's just eating it up. And it pisses me off. I just spent the summer bussing tables at an Italian Restaurant and Bar without my best friend to bitch too. I mean, sure I have other friends, Skittery, Bumlets, Snitch and whatnot. But when you've had someone on your side since before you can remember, and all the sudden their gone, well, it kind of sucks.

And it's more then that. He looks different. Like he's got all these wonderful secrets, this whole other life that he decided to leave me out of. And he looks good, too. I don't know quite what it is, but there's this whole new energy about him. I hesitate to say this, but he's got some kind of glow. Something's changed. This isn't the Spot Conlon I knew from before this summer, restless and pissed off and confused. He's always been cocky but now he looks as if he's just floating above the rest of us, superior. I am insanely jealous of this new Spot Conlon.

But I'm going to play it off. He wants me to acknowledge him somehow, what he's done, how I'm pissed, how I'm jealous. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. "So," I start off, my voice is casual, calm. I'm doing good, "how was your summer?" Perfect. We're strangers. Casual friends. I don't give a shit about him.

He keeps right on grinning, and I realize he knows me too well. He's changed, I haven't. "It was fucking amazing," he responds, playing along, gloating. And then he adds, "you really need to get down to the city, Race." This comment burns. I try to stop the thought but I can't, _maybe if you had invited me…_

I try to find something else to say, something else to latch on to. "You look different." Shit. Here it comes.

"I had sex," he says, hushed and confidential. And I thought I was burned before. Thank God the bell rings. Thank God I offer up a lame good bye and find my way to my classroom. Thank God I don't give a shit that my best friend has grown out of me.

So what is in store for our star-crossed couple?

Can they revive their friendship with all the secrets and jealousy? With all that's been left _unsaid_?

What is Spot's secret anyway? And is he the only one with secrets?

Who _exactly_ did Spot have sex with?

All this will be revealed with a lot of angst, pain and possibly _l-o-v-e_…

So, this is my first Sprace fanfic. I've read a few and they're always so awesome so I was like, fuck it, I wanna write one, too. Please review because I am very unsure on this one and it would help to have support. Sniff sniff, I sound so desperate! Just like Race, except he doesn't know it yet! But seriously, I can't write without some feedback, and I love it so, yeah!


	2. Chapter 2

So, I should probably offer up a little background, just so you understand the gravity of the situation or whatever. Spot Conlon and I have been friends forever. Okay, so I've established that. I don't mean to beat it into the ground but it's pretty fucking important. I mean, if I was to be totally, one hundred percent honest, I'd have to admit that our relationship is the most important thing in my life. We've seen each other through everything. Divorce, death, hatred and all life's other little pleasantries. And the good stuff, too. Baseball games and keg parties and camp outs. We drank our first beers together, smoked our first cigarettes. And we somehow managed to circumnavigate the High School hierarchies.

You see, Spot's popular and I'm, well, not exactly. So he's got the in crowd knocking down his door. And he's cool with them, but when it comes down to it, he'd rather hang out with me and the rest of our boys. But still, he's always been a little bit better, ya know? I mean, he drives girls crazy. I don't know a one who isn't infatuated with him. But he doesn't really date. I mean he's never had a girlfriend. I mean like a real, committed, serious girlfriend. I mean, sure he fools around and what not. Some people consider him a player, others just think he's stuck up. But I know the truth and the truth is that he really doesn't give a shit about that stuff. We've had deep conversations (usually after too much booze or two many bong hits) where he's looked me in the eyes and said, "I just don't think I'm a relationship kind of guy, ya know? I think there's just something wrong with me?" And it's moments like these when I could see the worried confusion behind his strong, blue eyes and I could feel the power of our friendship, the way that when one of us was hurting, the other was too, without even knowing exactly why.

I don't mean to sound pathetic or anything, but his life was my life, in a way. So when he left me on my own this summer, I felt like, like I'd lost an arm or something. I felt lost and adrift and unsure what to do with myself. And now that he's back, I can feel myself wanting to latch back on, for things to go back to the way they were. But I have this sinking sensation that they just can't, and I'm not sure why.

We meet at Skittery's truck to drive out for off-campus lunch. I'm surprised and comforted to see Spot standing there, laughing about something with Snitch and Bumlets. Just like always. But for some reason, as we sit eating at our Mexican place, I feel oddly disconnected. Everyone's joking and talking over each other about school and summer and everything, but I just can't get myself to join in. Spot keeps shooting me furtive glances out of the corner of his eye and I want to join in, for everything to go back to normal. But the more I want it, the more distanced I feel and the less I have to say.

Walking back to class, Spot sort of follows me, even though he's headed to Gym and I'm going to Math, complete opposite directions. He's walking next to me in silence and I think we both feel good. We feel that comfort of having your best friend beside you for a few more steps. Then he looks at me, critically, like I'm some problem he just can't solve. "Yous okay?" He asks. Of course he slips into our dialect, living in New York we both have accents, but they're always stronger when we're together, when we don't have to worry about propriety and what not.

I shrug. "Yeah." I respond. I'm shutting him out. He knows it. And he's pissed. I should know better. You don't shut out Spot Conlon. Spot's the kind of guy who likes to run straight into conflict, eyes closed and head first.

He cuts me off and stands in front of me. He's giving me his old pissed-off glare. What right does he have to be mad at _me_? "What's the deal, Race, huh?" He asks. Ohh, tough guy.

I should explain one thing. I have a mouth, and I don't exactly avoid confrontation either. God, what a pair we make. "Jesus Conlon! What the fuck's your problem? You think you can just drop in and out of peoples life at your leisure? If you wanna go off and lead your own fucking life, that's fine. Just don't expect people to sit around and wait for you. Don't act like you didn't do nothing, you selfish fucking bastard! You want me out of you're life? Fine. I'm out," I storm off and leave him speechless. And it feels good, for about five minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

I am avoiding my best friend. If he's the one in the wrong, then why do I feel bad?

Remember those "popular" friends I told you about? Well, he's making good use of them now, walking down the halls laughing it up with the rest of the goddamn soccer players. I realize it must have been easy for him without me this summer, because he's having no problem pretending I don't exist.

So, I spent the rest of my first week in agony. This was supposed to be a good time, the time when I finally saw my best friend in the world, where my life finally got back on track again. I can't figure which is worse. Not having Spot around or having him around, but not with me. I don't know why this is so important. Why I can't just move on. People stop being friends all the time; they make new friends, move on. But I feel like what we had was deeper then friendship, if that's possible. And it's hard to let go.

Unfortunately, both of us our as stubborn as mules. But fortunately, neither of us can keep our mouth's shut and both of us fight like pit bulls. And we've had our share of fights. I gave him stitches once, he knocked me out. Even our fights were fair.

So, Friday night comes, with the traditional start-of-the-school-year kegger. I come with Skittery, Snitch and Bumlets. We pre-gamed first because I knew Spot would be there. Apparently, he had the same idea because the moment we walk into the party house I se him stumbling outside to upchuck in the bushes. As usual, he's followed by a fan club of girls squealing, "are you okay?"

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here, anyway. I wander around talking mindlessly to people I don't give a shit about.

About an hour later, I see him again, across the room. But this time he sees me and my stomach clenches as he charges over. He reeks of alcohol and his eyes are rimmed with red. I've never seen him so drunk, and that was saying something. All the glow and sophistication he'd had on Monday had been lost by too much drink. I wonder for a moment, what had driven him to it? I'd seen him through some pretty bad times, but he'd never been inspired to get this off-his-ass drunk. I can't stop my feelings for him from getting in the way of my anger. He was my friend. And right now, he needs help.

He had approached me glaring angrily but I give him a look that stops him in my tracks. It's my "I'm sorry" look, and I don't even stop to think that he should be the one to apologize. He comes over and stands next to me.

"You doin' okay?" I ask. His eyes are kind of doing this weird blinky thing, like he's falling asleep.

"I'm drunk off my ass," he chuckles to himself.

"Wanna go outside?" I ask. It's crowded and sweaty and the music is blaring. He nods.

We walk outside and find a deserted picnic table way out in the wooded yard. We sit down and he puts his head in his hands. "Yous okay?" I ask again. He nods slowly.

"Just don't let me pass out," he mumbles.

"I ain't never seen you so drunk," I comment. He is looking over at me now, his head leaning on his hand with his elbow on the table.

"I ain't never been so drunk, 'cept maybe once, in the City," I flinch. He looks at me, looks through me with his mirrored eyes. "I'm sorry, Race. I had to go. I just, I had to figure some stuff out, ya know?" I nod slowly.

I take a deep breath. I can't keep the edge of anger and fear from my voice. "So, did ya figure it out?"

He shrugs. "I thought I did. But now that I'm back, I'm more confused then ever." He looks exhausted. His head is starting to loll.

"Oh." I say. I have a million questions. He feels almost like a stranger to me. But how can I ask? Can I ask? Have things really changed? Can they ever go back to the way they were? I may as well try to find out. And there is one question that burns stronger then all the others. "So, how was sex?"

Spot grins sleepily. His characteristic sparkle returns to his glazed eyes for a moment. "It was amazing," he mumbles slowly. "Race?" he asks.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"I did it with a guy." Oh. And on that interesting note, he passes out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So, this is coming pretty fast and furious, but Spot and Race have some crazy chemistry! Anyway, let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

It's like he is purposefully trying to do everything he can to get under my skin, to shut me out. Wait, let me backtrack.

So, last night, I do everything a good friend should. I find us a ride home with this girl Linney, who is annoying as hell. She has really short brunette hair and keeps peering back at Spot through her mirror and going, "is he okay?", "is he okay?" We're just turning the corner to my block when she finally looks at me and asks, "are you okay?" Yeah, fine thanks.

Anyway, she finds a little too much pleasure helping me get Spot into the house. He's mumbling and stumbling like he's doing a Kurt Cobain impression. We dump him on the couch. It doesn't strike me as weird until later. Lying in bed, eyes wide open, I realize it's the first time Spot's ever slept on my couch. You see, I have bunk beds (shut up) and he's always slept on top and me on bottom. Things have changed, I tell myself. But I just can't let myself believe it.

So, okay, now to the "under my skin" part. I wake up the next morning and he's gone. I mean, the couch is empty. Fortunately, he didn't fold up the blankets we tossed at him last night, because that would be even more depressing. Instead, it looked like he had just rolled out, the blankets were kind of smooshed and his imprint was still in the couch, in a way that kind of made me want to lie down and see if it was still warm. Okay, weird thought. Ignore that.

Point is, Spot's gone. I'm not sure how to take that. It's the first time he's ever just left my house like that. Lot of firsts lately, and I'm not liking any of them. But it does remind me of him ditching me another time, ahem, which I had almost forgiven him for, seriously.

So, I'm tempted to call him or something, but I know that if I do, I won't be able to just brush over the fact that he disappeared, _again_. In fact, I'll probably get really pissed. And maybe I have no right to. I mean, it's seems a pretty dumb thing to get upset over. Jesus! When did everything get to be so complicated? I swear things weren't like this before. We used to have that easy kind of friendship where you never thought about anything. There's that word again, _used_ to. Remind me to never use it, ever.

So, my Saturday is hell. I'm actually relived when I have to go to work in the evening, but even that doesn't rescue me from my doomsday slump. I swear I'm not this depressing of a person. Seriously.

So, it had to happen. I mean, when ever you just need to get away from someone and think things over, life just throws them I your face and doesn't even give you the chance to sort things out. And you end up even more confused. You will not believe just how confused I was about to get

As you have probably surmised, Spot showed up at the restaurant that night. But, of course, not in a way that I even remotely expected him to. He showed up with one of the soccer players, this British guy named Micah. Oh yeah, and two girls.

I impulsively headed toward the kitchen. For some reason, I thought I could just hide back there, make it go away. You can crown me the king of denial. Or the pharaoh, if you're cheesy.

In fairness, Spot had no idea I worked there (That's what you get for ditching your best friend). If he had, I'm sure he would have chosen another place. I mean, it was a pretty awkward situation all-around. I mean, he had just confessed possible homosexuality to me last night, and tonight he was on a distinctly heterosexual date. Can a person die of confusion? Because I think I'd much prefer it.

So, back to the kitchen with me. But remember what I told you about life? Yeah well, there is no escaping it's wicked sense of humor.

"Race, party of four, table seven," Raj, one of the hostesses, hands me some menus. I don't even need to look at table seven. Lucky number seven. I am the oral history of punk, and my title is _Please Kill Me_.

I head toward table seven with heavy feet and ringing in my ear. I can do this. In my imagination, I can sail right over there, keep a cool head, smile wickedly at Spot. Total nonchalance. Why is reality always so much worse? Does it ever beat out imagination, or has it just given up completely? I think the later.

So, I approach. They're talking, laughing; the girls are squirming a little, trying to get the guys to put their hands on them so they can pretend to be disgusted. How very All-American.

I reach the table and they all turn to acknowledge me. The look on Spot's face chalks one up for reality. I could never have imagined such exquisite shock.

I am a waiting machine. "How are you guys doin' tonight?" I ask, pleasantly enough considering I can't feel my legs. Micah looks right through me like we haven't had three years of High School (including several classes) together. His date, who possibly has shit up her nose, does the same.

The other girl, Joyce I think, is in my Math class and probably knows who I am due to a closet Spot obsession. So she says, "hi Race," and then looks at Spot like, "hey, did you notice that your friends are my friends?" Nudge, nudge. Spot is studying his menu like it's the SAT and he's got five minutes left.

"Heya, Race," he says out of the corner of his mouth. Normally, I would be mad, but maybe I'm getting tired of it. Or maybe it's the fact that he's cheeks are turning red like he's just been smacked in the face. I don't know if I have ever seen Spot embarrassed, or even surprised. He's always Mr. Cool, Mr. In Control, Mr. Soulless. It's actually nice to see him fazed.

For a moment, just for a moment, I have the power. And I kind of get a little giddy on it.

"So, are ready to order?" I ask, my imagined grin becoming a reality. Micah and the snob order, then Joyce. I write them down and look at Spot.

"Hey Spot, you okay?" Micah asks. Spot jumps a little, I think Micah may have kicked him under the table.

He coughs into his fist and looks at me dead on. "I'll have the _penne rustica_," he says, like it's a dare. Remember that power I had? I think I may have just imagined that, too.

XXX

A/N: So, I finally update and you see what happens? Must we make them suffer through any more of this? It's just so unfair, and I promise things are about to get even worse, but not in the way you expect, I promise. Hehe…you'll just have to wait and see…

PS Thanks to reviewers because I would seriously stop writing this right this minute if it were not for you. If you would like that, don't review! ; )


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is a _really_ good song & it kind of relates, so here:

_Is it cruel or kind not to speak my mind _

_And to lie to you_

_Rather than hurt you_

_Well, I'll confess all of my sins_

_After several large gins_

_But still I'll hide from you_

_Hide what's inside from you. _

_-The Libertines_

XXX

So, this is it. I really mean it this time. Spot Conlon and I are no longer friends. In fact, I am currently looking into ways to erase him from my memory a la _Eternal Sunshine_. I am also looking into a life of my own. I've always thought it might be cool to be a racecar driver (Spot would laugh at this since it took me three tries to get my license. He got his the first time, of course). Hold on, did I just mention Spot? That doesn't count, fuck. Anyway, I'll become successful and famous and…_certain people_ will be incredibly jealous of me. And then maybe I'll die in terrible accident and these "people" will lament that we fell out of touch. Hmmm…probably shouldn't mention that one to any counselors or they'll put me on suicide watch.

Anyway, point is, I can get on completely fine without him. I fact, I'll probably be better off. He's probably been holding me back all these years or something. _Holding me back from what? _I have no idea. It's just one of those things you say.

So anyway, this was my mindset as I went to sleep that night. I lay in my bed plotting all the ways I could no longer be his friend/make him jealous/stop thinking about him. But remember how I told you that life likes to fuck with me? Yeah, well apparently _he's_ in on it too.

I was awoken at about three in the morning by the screech of my cell phone. I really need to change that ring tone, to something soothing, like dolphins or whatever those crazy people listen to to fall asleep. Anyways, three guesses who was calling? Jesus, why did I just give you three? I'm throwing out guesses like candy. One; I'll give you one guess. If you don't get it you're a fucking idiot.

So, I am suddenly very awake and I answer the phone.

"Meet me outside," he says. Ahh… "meet me outside." Spot and I have quite a history beneath that phrase. It started when we were younger and he'd throw rocks at my window (Not only cliché, but also dent-causing) and eventually (through much persistence in which the window was a key piece of evidence) cell phones. Sometimes it was just to stave off boredom, something exciting and dangerous. But sometimes it was deep, a confession of loneliness or emptiness, the need to have someone who cared about you close beside you. Tonight, I had no idea what to expect.

I went outside to find him behind the wheel of his beat-up Ford pick up. The car was running and I climbed in, not quite fully awake yet. He turned and smiled at me in the way he used to smile when we were doing something "reckless" or "stupid," his wicked smile. I half-smiled back and he put the car in gear.

We drove in silence for a while. To be honest, I was still trying to put my head together. Apart from the fact that I had just been woken up, I was, as usual of late, confused. I am really ready for things to straighten out. Whoa, that could have a double meaning. Jesus, I'm tired.

"So, where are we going?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

Spot glances at me. "You have spit on your face," he says pointing. God, that's embarrassing.

I pull down the mirror. "Where?" I ask. I don't see any. I look at Spot and he's grinning at the road. Fucking hilarious. He always does this to me. Says something to make me look stupid and piss me off. Usually when he wants to avoid serious conversation. Which is always, incidentally. Anyway, I kind of scowl because I'm fucking sick of avoiding all this shit between us. So I'm about to dive right in, but then he turns the car onto a dirt road and I know where we're going. The excitement destroys my impulse to talk. We're driving on an off-road trail up a mountain. We use to always do this when Spot first got his car. One time, the car got stuck and we tried to walk back and ended up lost in the woods for three days. They sent a search party out for us and we slept huddled under fallen trees. On the third day, we somehow stumbled into a ranger station. It was probably one of the most exciting things that's ever happened to me. We were like Tom and Huck, eating berries and chasing rabbits (thank God we didn't catch one).

After rumbling up the hill (which causes me to lose my stomach). We pull up to the edge of the cliff. Far away below, we can see the lights of our town. The shopping center, the school, we've even figured out (approximately) where our houses are. Spot stops the car and puts it in park. My mind disturbingly jumps to the fact that this is considered a make out spot by a lot of the teens in our town. Neither of us sees it that way though.

So, by now the silence is awkward. I'm guessing Spot brought me up here for a reason. But I'll be damned if he'll bring it up. That's always how he is. I have to coax his problems out of him and make him feel like they're _my_ problems and he's doing _me_ a big favor by sharing them.

Tonight, I decide to just shoot straight. "So, what's up?" I am such a nice person, a saint really. Most people would be mad. Most people would want to grab him by is scrawny neck and wring him dry. But not me, nope. Not at all. Okay, maybe a little.

Spot takes a deep breath. "I feel, like, weird." He says. A man of many words. But the way he says it (and the fact that we're so close, we're nearly telepathic (or _were_)), I know exactly what he means. He's talking about the weirdness that had been between us ever since he got back. Which, as I've established, is entirely _his_ fault. Anyway, I'm actually kind of proud of him from coming this far. This is unusual for him. Still, I'm not going to let him off so easy.

"Whaddya mean?" I ask. _See_, I can be cruel.

Spot takes his eyes off the landscape and looks at me patronizingly. He can spot my bull a mile away. But at the same time, he also knows why I'm dishing it out. He looks back at the view. "Ever since I got back- it feels different." I nod and he knows I agree without even seeing it.

We sit in silence for a pretty long time. It's really weird because it feels electric between us. I don't know if it's the anger or the jealousy or just the power of us together or even a symbol of the end. Maybe it's just the force of the world, telling us that things can never be the same again. And I never even had a chance to say good bye to the way they were. And here we are, together and apart. Are we splitting up or coming back together? I can't even tell. But I realize that even if we stay friends, it'll be like starting over. The new Race and the new Spot. The old relationship is dead, and we can't get it back.

"Race?" Spot's voice shocks me out of my wondering.

"Yeah?" I answer back.

He looks at me. His blue eyes filled with soul. "I'm sorry." Maybe there's hope for us yet.

XXX

Awww…tenderness. When will these fuckwits get a clue? Stay tuned…


	6. Chapter 6

We sit there for a while, at the top of our mountain and I realize how different things really are. The old Race and the old Spot would be talking a mile a minute, laughing, joking. The new Race and Spot are boring. They just sit there as the air gets heavy with all the things we _don't_ say. I don't really like them. I mean, I have a perverse desire to kill them.

So I do. I do it. I say the thing that's been on my mind and driving me crazy without my even acknowledging it. I say it fast, but I fucking say it. "So-what-was-with-that-thing-you-told-me-the-other-night."

Spot turns and looks at me, a smile playing on his lips because I've done it. I've let myself be awkward. "What thing was that?" He asks. What a fucking bitch. He's not going to let me off easy either.

I take a deep breath, compose myself. "The other night, when you got drunk, you told me you had sex…"

"Yeah?" He coaxes, daring me to say it. Why, oh, why does he always put me in the awkward position? Even when it should be the other way around. It's so unfair.

"…with a guy." I finish.

"Yeah?" He says again.

"Yeah." I reply. We stare at each other. When we were younger we used to have staring contests all the time. He always won. Go figure. So, I'm staring and I'm trying to do a little Jedi mind trick, too. _C'mon, confess, confess, be the vulnerable one for once_.

He looks away. _He_ looks away! That means I won, right? Right?

He takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I had sex with another guy. I really don't see your point here," he seems distant now, which takes all the joy out of my victory. But I'm not going to let him make me feel like I'm a jerk for asking.

"Well, I think its pretty big deal. I mean, we've been best friends for our entire life and…it's a pretty big deal."

"Wow, Race, this is a really special moment," he says, deadpan. He puts his hand over his heart. "I'm touched."

I crack a smile. I guess I am acting a little too serious. "So, I mean, how'd it happen? Who was he? What the fuck were you doing out there anyway?"

Spot shrugs, like it's no big deal. What a fucker. Then he rubs the back of his neck with his hand and I can tell he's gearing up for it. "I was just living in the city, in this kind of hostel, and I had a job selling papers."

"You were a paper boy?" I ask, laughing a little. I just can't imagine it. He gives me withering look but I know he's excited to tell me. _See_, I knew he wanted to talk to me. I think he's just glad to have someone to share it with.

"So, anyway, we went out to this bar one night"-

"_We_?"

He gives me a look. "Do you wanna hear the story or not?"

"I just want you to tell it right," I tease.

He takes a deep breath and gives me a squinty look. " _We_ is some of the guys from the hostel."

"Wow, real descriptive," I say. I can't help myself; that is just our relationship. We annoy the hell out of each other, and then we give in. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up."

"Thank you," he says. "So, _anyway_, I got really drunk…"

"Imagine that."

"And I…this guy came up to me and he just said, "what's your name?" and so I said, "Spot Conlon" and then he said"-

"What did he look like?" Yep, Spot is definitely annoyed with me.

"Jesus Christ, Race, _I don't know_," he hates to explain things. Apparently, it's beneath him.

"You mean you don't remember?"

"No, of course I remember. I just mean, what do want me to say?"

"You know just the normal things. How tall was he? Did he have all his teeth? Boxers or briefs?" He elbows me.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking bastard…Okay, he had brown hair and he was in college…"

"Did he have pretty eyes?"

"You're really starting to get on my nerves now," Spot says. I, however, am having the time of my life. I finally feel like I have my friend back. And it's fun as hell fucking with him. Spot huffs. "He had kind of hazelly eyes," he concedes.

"Okay…" I say encouraging him.

"So, no more interruptions, okay? I'm trying to tell a story here." I nod. See? No interruptions. "So he said, "are you here alone?" and I said, "no, my friends are over there" or whatever. And then he just looked at me and he said, "do you want to come back to my place?" and I just said yes." He stops. That's it. That's the end of his amazing story.

"So, then what?" I ask. He gives me a look. Oh, okay, then _that_. I clear my throat. I feel sort of uncomfortable, but I try to pass it off. "So, did you see him again after that?" he nods. "Do you still, um, talk to him?" He shakes his head. He looks kind of sad and I start to get suspicious. Did this guy actually dump Spot? Maybe that's why he wasn't so eager to tell me.

"We just kind of…I don't know. I mean, it's not like we wanted to have a relationship or anything…" I nod. I know that I will never know the complete truth about it. Spot's pride is his number one priority. He keeps it safe from everyone.

"So, was he the only one?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

Spot smiles a little. "Nope." What a slut.

XXX

Hehe…funny stuff. Aren't they just the cutest? Precious!


End file.
